


Plumber's Buddy

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A plumbing problem provides a terrific visual for Blair....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plumber's Buddy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2009 for sentinel_thurs Challenge #276: Crack
> 
> Note: luna_61 is responsible for a change ::snicker::

 

There were cracks - and then there were _cracks_.

Jim had been on a stake-out with Megan when the pipe under the bathroom sink burst and Blair, snowed under with Anthro 101 papers on how "The Great American City Has Changed the Face of America" (or vice versa), had been forced to call a plumber. Normally, he'd have let Jim have his jollies by pretending to be the finest pipe man on Earth, or even raised the wrench himself, but since the stake-out showed no signs of ending anytime soon and his red pencil was yelling louder than the wrench, he called Bud, the neighborhood plumber.

And his crack. Which Blair had been an unfortunate witness to when the need for a break - in order to stop the bleeding from his eyes thanks to papers evidently written by kids on crack - no pun intended. The constant spelling errors alone were proof of something - but misspelling their own names? Oh, yeah. Crack.

Speaking of crack and/or cracks, Bud, their neighborhood plumber, undoubtedly had an ass that thrilled his wife no end - again, no pun intended - but his hairy crack was not something Blair wanted to see at that moment in his life. Hell, there would _never_ be a moment he'd want to see it. Ever. As in ever, ever, ever.

But he had, which sent him scurrying back to correcting papers that suddenly seemed brilliant by comparison, as anything would. He didn't believe he was being rude or impolite in his need to make a quick and urgent exit, and hopefully his...discomfort (read: _horror_ ) at the sight of Bud's crack hadn't been obvious to the man, but in all honesty, facts were facts and Bud's crack was…yes, well.

As it turned out, Bud, the neighborhood plumber, wasn't exactly a crack plumber - no pun intend...oh, just forget it - as two days later, while Jim slept soundly upstairs - his first good sleep in ages - the same pipe burst again. Blair had been at the store at the precise moment the sound of metal striking the cabinet door awakened Jim.

Seemed this time, the word 'burst' had been literal.

Jim, even sleep deprived, was a sentinel through and through, thus his mind supplied him with the answer for the 'burst' before his bleary eyes opened. Naked, he jumped up, grabbed the jeans from the floor, where he'd discarded them the night before, slipped into them and barefoot, ran downstairs. Before rushing into the flooding bathroom, he stopped long enough to pick up his prized tool belt. Had Blair been there at that moment, Jim knew full well he'd have been compared, via a snarky remark from Sandburg, to TV's Tim, the Tool Man - minus the injuries, of course - thanks to Jim's love of all things tools, and the belts that held them.

On a high because Jim was home again, and flushed with the pleasure that came from shopping for all of Jim's favorite foods, a pure and innocent Sandburg walked into the loft. His smile disappeared upon hearing the clanking sounds emanating from the bathroom. Being no dummy, he was quick to deduce another plumbing problem so set the groceries down in the kitchen and, with some wariness, approached the battlefield.

No Bud, thus no Bud-crack, thank GOD.

But there was...Jim.

On his knees and doing his impression of a contortionist with his upper body under the sink and his lower half… Oh, lord, his lower half.

Blair thought he could actually come up with a flowery poem at that moment - something he'd call, "Ode the Beautiful Butt Crack". On the other hand, he couldn't breathe, so maybe writing anything might be beyond his abilities - for the moment. In addition, his eyes seemed pinned open. He couldn't blink; could only stare in wonder.

Jim had a truly beautiful... crack.

Shirtless, Blair knew Jim's muscles were flexing and, normally, that would have been more than enough to capture his attention, but this…that…he'd never… Sure, full frontal, thanks to Cyclops Oil, but come on, one quick look and then the towel. This, this was a heavenly promise partially protected by the rim of a pair of faded denims riding just low enough to reveal the separation of cheeks that he knew would be firm - but giving - to touch - his touch.

And brother, did he want to touch - and fondle - and kiss - and maybe lick those barely-there freckles just above the small of Jim's back while slipping his hand down--

"Sandburg, don't just stand there, get more towels to sop up this water!"

Whoa. Way to ruin a damn fine crack fantasy.

"Crack, Jim, way to ruin a damn fine--"

Blair snapped his mouth shut as his brain caught up with his words. Now, he wasn't necessarily in trouble - for all Jim knew, he'd been referring to fixing the cracked pipes himself. Yeah, fixing the pipes…so all he had to do was reinforce that belief.

Smiling proudly, he added, "You know how I'd love to blow your pipes."

Even as he wondered how the hell _those_ words had come out, he noticed that while Jim didn't exactly freeze - he did stop what he was doing, mid-do. It was actually mid-screw, but Blair didn't think he should think that - although, he just had.

Damn, he was fucked seven ways from sundown.

Jim came out from under the sink and rested back on his haunches. Which, unfortunately, covered that lovely--

"What did you just say, Sandburg?"

Oh, please, the man was a sentinel, for God's sake. And since Blair was already in for a penny, he might as well throw in the pound. Besides, their dance of the New Guinea Birds of Paradise had been going on long enough, damn it.

"First of all, you should have asked, 'Did you just say what I think you said?' because we both know damn well what you heard, you being a sentinel and all. We also know you'd just be stalling, with the added bonus of forcing me to _repeat_ what I just said. But I'm not _going_ to repeat what I just said because the way I see it, the ball's in your court now, buddy, and you have until we get this fixed and cleaned up to decide your move and whether it'll be _de_ fensive or _off_ ensive."

With that, Blair rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and started to clean up.

***

The bathroom sink was fixed, the floor dry, a laundry load of towels swirling around in the dryer downstairs and a tall, good-looking cop showering the sing-guck off.

Blair had changed, put away the groceries and was now making the breakfast he'd originally planned for Jim before his life went south - toward a nice looking crack.

Neither of them had done any talking during the cleanup, so the tension had been, as writers often wrote: _palpable_. The good thing? That 'palpable' tension hadn't been the bad kind. Oh, no, not at all.

Blair grinned as he heard the shower shut off. Perfect timing, as usual. Breakfast would be by the time Jim was dry and dressed. He popped the lever on the toaster down, glanced over his shoulder, and nodded, pleased with the way the table looked. Homey, natural; as if they were a couple instead of a couple of roommates. Wait, that didn't come out right. Oh, well, he knew what he meant.

He was taking the bagels out of the toaster when the bathroom door opened. He plated them and walked over to the table just as Jim made his appearance.

Jim noticed Blair's handiwork while buttoning up his shirt. He cocked his head. "Looks nice."

"All your favorite food groups, man. Carbs, carbs, and more carbs, with a dash of protein in the form of eggs." Blair pulled out Jim's chair and raised an eyebrow.

Grinning, Jim sat down. Blair took his seat.

Shaking out the napkin, Jim said, a gleam in his eye, "If you think this little courtship ritual is going to make a difference about my next move - well, it isn't going to hurt."

"Your courtship ritual wasn't all that bad either," Blair said as he picked up half a bagel and added a schmear of cream cheese.

"Showing too much...skin...wasn't meant as any kind of ritual, but then, neither was this breakfast, so we'll call it even."

"Deal." Blair watched Jim pile eggs, bacon and hash browns onto his plate before topping it all with a bagel. He knew what would come next - Jim's famous breakfast sandwich. Which was why there were also slices of American cheese on the table, along with a bottle of ketchup.

He loved watching Jim build his sandwich even if he did have to stop his mind from counting up the fat grams.

"I plan on eating a bit quicker than normal, what with this offensive move I have planned."

Blair, who'd been about to take a bite of his bagel, stopped. "Offensive, eh?"

"Oh, yeah. A real 'take-down' move. The shower will turn out to be redundant since my move will result in the need for another one."

"Much later, though, right?"

Jim looked up from his now completed sandwich and smiled softly. "Oh, yeah, much later. Much, much, much later."

Giving thanks to Bud, their neighborhood plumber, Blair took a bite of his bagel and thought his world was about to crack apart - in the best possible way.

The End


End file.
